


Unspeaking Stars

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M, Just before Bill and Fleur's Wedding, Order of the Phoenix spy, Prelude to more, Wild plunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17970359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: In trying to make sense of everything the night before Bill and Fleur's wedding, Hermione stumbles across an unexpected spy for The Order of the Phoenix.





	Unspeaking Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hystaracal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hystaracal/gifts).



> A/N: This was something quick for Hystaracal. The lovely MykEsprit gave this a beta read and I'm thankful for her. All remaining errors are mine.  
> I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. She'd been blinking at Ginny's bedroom ceiling for hours. Too many thoughts racing, bouncing, and scrambling.

How was she possibly supposed to rectify the insanity that her life had become over the past few days? Mere hours previous, she'd been laughing over the nonsense of 'Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump.' Ron had been laughing _at_ her—and Harry, for that matter—because for all his potential sweetness, he would forget that there was an entire world outside of his Pureblood magical bubble…

Not that she could blame him; it was easy enough to forget herself at times. Easy to forget she had only been introduced to trivial, silly stories because she'd been bequeathed a wizarding storybook by her recently deceased-slash-murdered Headmaster. Of all the impractical and useless things.

She released an irritated huff to glower over a sleeping Ginny's rhythmic breathing. What in Godric's name was she supposed to do with that? How was a book of children's stories supposed to be of practical use in the pending Horcrux hunt?

And since she'd allowed her mind to wander in dangerously serious and melancholy territory, she wondered if Monica and Wendell had safely arrived to wherever they decided in Australia. And where they decided to settle, for that matter. It was a sprawling continent, after all. And it was the very least she could do to allow them free reign to decide where they would settle and set up a new practice…

A lump formed in her throat, enlarging exponentially, threatening to choke… She fumbled for her wand, casting a silencing charm over herself to keep her gasps from waking Ginny, blinking in rapid succession all the while to keep the stinging tears from spilling over, making scalding tracks down her cheeks. She threw off her blanket, slipping on her father's old plaid robe that still swallowed her petite frame, but she'd previously shortened to accommodate for the height difference. Her eyes fell shut as she breathed a steadying inhale.

The doorknob was cool under her touch, and she didn't have a plan of where to go; but sitting at the table, giving her hands _some_ form of occupation, even if it was just wrapping around an empty mug (lest the process of brewing a pot of tea wakes Mrs. Weasley from needed rest before tomorrow). Or maybe she could slip out the door and count the winking stars from a spare patch of grass…

Low voices drifting from the stairwell caught her attention, and she crept nearer, casting another silencing charm to mask the creaking of certain steps as she tiptoed down.

The conversation remained hushed and muffled until she passed the last landing, making her way down the final set of stairs. The voices came from the direction of the kitchen.

She caught Mr. Weasley's voice first as the wizard asked, "You're sure it's tomorrow?"

"Affirmative." Hermione nearly tumbled down the final steps at the answering voice— _Malfoy_! Her mind reeled, and she missed whatever he said next, shaking herself to hear Mr. Weasley's response.

"...something, at least." The older wizard heaved a sigh. "It was foolish nonsense having a wedding in the midst of such times, knowing something like this could happen, but what's done is done. I'll get the word to a few specifics tomorrow, but we've all been on the ready for something to happen."

Hermione caught a snort. "Perhaps I'll be able to provide information you're less aware of next time."

"Nonsense," Mr. Weasley said. "You've confirmed suspicions, and we're grateful for your every sacrifice. Thank you."

Hermione dared to finish her descent, stepping into the shadows near the pantry, finding Mr. Weasley standing with his back to her. "Will you be able to see yourself out? I promised Molly I'd check on the fireplace and give it a final cleaning before going to bed."

"Of course," Malfoy answered as Mr. Weasley passed by Hermione's hiding spot without a glance over his shoulder.

Hermione loosed a breath. Mr. Weasley marched with purpose towards the living room for that final cleaning, as Mrs. Weasley had requested, for the few relatives who'd be arriving by Floo tomorrow. Her eyes shifted back to the kitchen…

Finding platinum blond hair contrasting with dark, billowing robes making for the back door; Malfoy was heading towards the Apparation point at the back of the house.

She lingered in place, hesitating only a moment longer before darting across the kitchen and shoving open the backdoor, wrapping her arms around her waist as a summer night breeze kissed her cheeks.

She forced her eyes to adjust as she moved bare feet over soft dirt and grass in the direction of the Apparation point, straining for a glimpse of pale hair under the blanket of stars… "Malfoy?" she tried.

She picked up her pace, hoping he hadn't already vanished into the void…

"Malfoy? Malfoy, are you there?"

"What do you want, Granger?"

A gasp caught in her throat just in time as the Slytherin materialised before her, releasing whatever charm he'd cast over himself as soon as he'd left the safety of the house.

She cleared her throat, uncertainty weighing heavy on her tongue now that she'd reached him… "You're acting as a spy? You're… you're with us?" She winced at her own idiocy, but there was nothing for it now.

"It appears that way," he answered. No sneer or irritating growl, though.

It empowered her to take another step towards him. "Why?"

Crickets played their inquisitive chirping symphony in tall grass.

She tried again. "You won't tell me, will you?

"Correct."

Her head tilted as she stepped towards him again. " _Or…_ Is it that you _can't_? You can't say anything for the safety of everyone involved and all that?"

He scoffed. "Is there a difference?"

"There is to me." Her words seemed softer than she'd intended. Almost gentle… Merlin, the cocktail of confusing insanity was unending, it seemed.

"If that's all you've got to say…" He raised his arm, eyes falling from hers, sidestepping…

"Wait!" Words burned in her chest, leaping to her tongue, ushering her feet to him before she could stop herself. He paused, and her fingers caught hold of his robes without meaning to. Her cheeks flamed, and she dropped her hand immediately before he could sneer or jerk away in disgust. "I just wanted to say that… I never believed you were a willing party to what you had to endure last year."

She was so near she _felt_ him stiffen, and while she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, she couldn't move away. "It was clever and powerful magic to fix that vanishing cabinet, regardless of the outcomes and use for it. And you…" Her lip trembled, and she took a sharp breath. "You sacrificed yourself, perhaps some morals, and any chance of a future for your family's safety. I'm sure you're doing the same now—"

"Is there a purpose behind all this, Granger?" The words themselves were dismissive, but his tone indicated something more. Layers of burdens and secrets that she couldn't comprehend.

She lifted her face, brushing a handful of curls from her eyes, tucking them behind an ear. "That healing potion that was left at your bedside when you were in the hospital after Harry—" His eyes flashed in the moonlight, and she shook her head, biting down on her lip. "When you were _recovering_ ," she decided on, "It's a modified Dittany. I'd started working on it when we came back from Christmas, thinking it would become necessary this year, in light of _everything_.

"All that's needed is a drop. It won't heal cursed injuries completely, but it will seal the wound for several minutes and stabilise the patient until sufficient help arrives, or they're transported to safety."

He said nothing for what seemed an eternity, seemingly frozen in place, studying her with unblinking eyes. Eyes that shimmered and shone, revealing more shades of grey than she didn’t know existed until this moment.

"Why?"

She shook herself, at a loss for how to respond…

But he saved her the trouble. "We've never… We aren't… And I…" He blinked once and shook his head. "Why, Granger?"

"I never thought you had much of a choice in all this, either." It wasn't a lie… A breeze caught in her curls, dancing flyaways around her face. "And whatever you went through last year, it was tearing at your soul. And I'm only good for books and finding broken things to fix." She gave a dark chuckle at her last admission, thinking of two particular dentists whose lives she'd permanently broken, not knowing if there would ever be a way to fix that mess…

Malfoy answered with the same ironic, throaty sound. "That's a lot of bloody shite, and I think we both know that." His mouth opened wider as if to say more, but he snapped it shut before words came out. His thin lips parted once more, but he only closed them, pressing them in a tight line.

"Thank you." Hermione bridged the last space between them, risking it all, and squeezed his robes at his elbow. He drew a sharp breath, and she swallowed hard. "Thank you for what you're doing. I hope we're able to help you someday as well."

She dropped her hand, turning to make her way back to the house when fingers snatched her wrist, sparks and shivers racing up her arm, igniting something she'd only ever known, ever _felt_ , a few times before… "Granger," he started, his thumb tracing where palm and wrist met, "I hope we both make it to the other side of this. I…" Something cracked in his voice, and she looked back, meeting a swirling grey gaze once more.

Emboldened by some outside force, she shifted her hand and threaded her fingers through his, giving a hard squeeze. Hoping against all odds and, for some unknown reason, that this wouldn't be the last thing she said to him. "Me too, Malfoy."

With a final application of pressure, their hands dropped, and Malfoy marched to the Apparation point with no final glance or parting words. Leaving Hermione alone with the crickets, the grass, and the stars.

Leaving her to wonder if the crickets ever chirped a more profound-sounding tune, if the grass always bowed to the will of the breeze... If the stars ever answered as they winked and blinked from their place in the black expanse.

Or did they keep their secrets for all eternity?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. xoxo


End file.
